


don't sit down 'cause i moved your chair

by theviolonist



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not really a secret that Britta's an angry activist with issues and Annie's a neurotic prudish try-hard. In fact, it's not a secret at all. It's not a secret either that they don't really like each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't sit down 'cause i moved your chair

It's not really a secret that Britta's an angry activist with issues and Annie's a neurotic prudish try-hard. In fact, it's not a secret at all. It's not a secret either that they don't really like each other. 

It's not that they _dislike_ each other, per se: they used to, in the beginning, but then that got boring and inconvenient, what with the whole gang thing, so now they just kind of tolerate each other. But they don't go out of their way to hang out outside school, and they know that Britta still thinks that Annie is annoying and judgmental, and Annie still thinks that Britta is fucked-up and confusing. Plus there's that whole Jeff thing. 

It works, though. It's college; no-one expects you to hang out with the people you don't really like, or even with those you do like, mostly because no-one cares; and they don't have to persecute each other just because they don't have the same interests as they would've if they were still in high school. (Annie spent most of her senior year in the hospital, actually, so it probably wouldn't have been a problem either.)

-

Troy leaves. Troy leaves and Abed does that weird thing where they all know he's grieving even though nothing about him actually points to that conclusion. Jeff is still a dick about it and Pierce is still dead and Shirley's still baking for everyone cupcakes that they eat without thanking her, and Chang is still insane. It's not all that different, considering. 

But one evening on her way home from a PETA rally Britta sees Annie sitting in a coffeeshop with a textbook open in front of her, staring at nothing. It looks like she might be crying. Then again, it's not like Britta's an expert. (Well. She wants to be. Truth is, though, psychology, even amateur-level, is a lot harder than it looks.)

She goes in. She's fucked-up, but she's not Jeff Winger levels of emotionally handicapped. Give her some credit. 

"Hey," she says, a little awkwardly, sitting at the table facing Annie. 

Annie sniffs, surprised, and wipes at her eyes furiously. Which is stupid - Britta's not blind. "Hi."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," says Annie quickly, then, when Britta doesn't say anything and she realizes that there's no danger, she sighs. "Troy's gone."

"It's been a while," Britta says. Maybe it's a little defensive, but so what? Troy was her boyfriend, after all. She ought to be sadder about his leaving than freaking _Annie_. 

Annie nods, oblivious to Britta's discomfort. "I know," she says. "It just hit me. Do you think we'll ever see him again?"

 _Probably not,_ Britta thinks. _That's how college works, and it's even worse because we're older: people say they'll call, then they lose touch. It's the circle of life._ If she were Jeff Winger, she'd probably say it. But she's not. "Maybe," she says instead. "He said he'd visit, didn't he?"

The corners of Annie's mouth crook up in a small smile, like maybe she's a bit cheered up. It doesn't take much. "Thanks," she says, her voice warm. 

She drinks her coffee - which must be cold, actually -, and for a few minutes they just sit there in silence. It's not unpleasant, just a little bit weird. Britta feels unused energy buzzing in her veins, coursing through her body. Her life is like that: she needs to move, not to get caught in the quicksand. 

Then Annie says, "We can go back to the apartment, if you want," strangely cautious, like she's hiding a meth lab there or something. 

But Britta's been around to Annie's plenty of times. If there _is_ a meth lab, it has to be a new installation; and besides, she'd be curious to see it. It's a surprisingly nice image, proper, more-or-less wholesome-looking Annie in a lab _a la_ Breaking Bad.

"Sure," she says, standing. "Let's go."

It's only later, when they're already on their way, that she realizes they're no reason for this; they're not friends. She gives a mental shrug. Who cares anyway? Britta is all about being anti-establishment. 

-

She ought to be surprised, when as soon as the door closes behind them Annie pushes herself on her tip-toes and kisses her, hard and fast like she's trying to hold onto some kind of courage. That's the thing about Annie: Britta never liked her, not really, but she always thought she was brave. Just not the kind of bravery you can see. 

She doesn't do anything when Annie pulls back, just stands there. After a while Annie's face falls a little; Britta touches her lips. 

"Huh," she says. 

"Is that a good huh or a bad huh?" Annie chirps, but she's nervous, it's obvious in her voice. Maybe Britta is on the right track with that psychology thing after all. 

"I don't know," Britta admits truthfully. (Or maybe not.)

Annie's gaze darts around the apartment. Britta thinks about asking if Abed is there, but Annie is enough of a control freak to probably know that he isn't, or she wouldn't have done that. Even though, Britta thinks, Abed probably wouldn't be fazed in the least if he walked in on the two of them kissing. 

"Do you want me to do it again, to check?" Annie asks. 

Britta hesitates for a second. A few years ago she did everything she could think of that was experimental: lesbianism, all-night benders, hard metal and even a bit of coke.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, okay."

-

"Was this about Troy?" she asks after, when they're lying in Annie's disgustingly pink bed, the sheets bunched up around their waists. Annie looks pretty with her hair mussed and her lips bitten, Britta thinks. 

"I could ask you the same question," Annie says. She has that thing about eye-contact, it's a bit exhausting. New, in any case. During sex she wouldn't stop looking Britta right in the eye, like she was trying to read something there, decipher some ancient, dead language. (Which is worrying enough: Britta knows for a fact that Annie takes Ancient Greek, and she's not exactly eager to know her own innermost secrets.)

"Not really," Britta says before she can think. Then she jerks her head, feeling a little guilty. 

When she looks over at Annie she's smiling, and that's an answer in itself. Britta leans in to kiss her, just because she can. Annie tastes like bland chapstick and cold coffee, and underneath the sharp mint of her toothpaste. 

"We're not friends," she says when she pulls back, more a statement than a question, "are we?"

"Of course we are," Annie says. 

Britta gives her a look. Annie probably reads things into that one, too, things like: have we ever had a drink without the others, you don't like me when we're not at that table, it's not nice to lie. Then again, Britta read somewhere that what you see in people is only your own projected insecurities, so maybe it's a whole other set of recriminations, go figure. 

"No," Annie says after a while, her voice small. "Not really."

-

The nice thing about that whole gang development, Britta thinks sometimes, is that it takes a lot for it to change. As in, nothing ever does. Troy is gone; Pierce is dead; Britta and Annie have slept together, but they're still the same old team, beneath the surface permutations. 

It doesn't even end badly, that day, which is a novelty too given how Britta's relationships tend to flame out in loud and dramatic ways. Then again, this wasn't exactly a relationship. Annie walks her to the door, after having dressed again, so thoroughly that you couldn't tell that half an hour ago she was crouching between Britta's legs, sucking on her collarbone.

"Thank you," she says, painfully earnest. And then, after a beat: "I'd never done that before."

With a face like that, Britta thinks, not entirely unkindly, you could even think she meant sex altogether. "It didn't show," she says instead, even though it did, a little. 

"Thanks," Annie says. 

"Well," Britta says, a little awkwardly, "see you Monday, I guess?"

"Okay," Annie says. 

They kiss once at the door, though, just because. No-one is looking, and kissing feels nice. There's no reason not to.

After that it's the same, except maybe the way Annie's gaze shoots up when Britta is taking her jacket off sometimes, or their fingers drumming on the table too close to each other, or the way Britta sometimes gets into a rant and then gets distracted halfway through by Annie chewing on a pencil like she's a in a bad schoolgirl porn. _Stop that,_ she wants to say, but she doesn't. Abed's eyes flit between the two of them exactly once, and Britta can see him gathering the data, then discarding it because he doesn't care.

One day Jeff makes a comment about turning to lesbianism because she hasn't had anyone in a while, and Britta shrugs. Jeff looks a bit surprised, though Britta doesn't know why; it's not like she's ever been shy about it, being bisexual, not really. Then he schools his face back into its mask of cynicism. Britta can heard him admonishing himself in his head: _you've got a reputation to uphold, Winger_. She laughs, and Jeff pouts when she won't tell him why. 

-

It creeps up on her, is the thing. She doesn't like Annie, she sleeps with Annie, she still doesn't like Annie, and then she wakes up one morning and it occurs to her that she might like Annie. She might even _love_ Annie, for all it doesn't make much sense or, you know, any sense at all. It freaks her out a bit, to be honest. 

Still; she thinks about it during the day, as she watches Annie study, and talk, and eat, and she thinks that there's nothing inherently horrible with liking Annie. She has lots of irritating habits, she's even an all-around irritating person, kind of, but it's not like Britta doesn't have flaws and it's not like it's any weirder than having fucking Jeff Winger as a friend, either.

She comes up to Annie that evening as she's leaving the study room, hauling that ridiculous backpack around her shoulders. "Hey," she says. 

"Hey," Annie says, a bit distracted. 

"Need any help with that?"

Annie nods, and Britta helps her, securing the straps on her shoulders. It still looks ridiculous, but a bit endearing, too.

"You wanna grab a coffee?" Britta asks, feeling a little nervous all of a sudden, because it's weird, because she's never asked a woman on a date, because Annie might not know it's a date, because it's _Annie_ , who she's not even sure she actually likes.

Annie looks at her for a second, like she's considering it. Then she says, "I have coffee at the apartment."

Britta grins, just a little. You have to, when someone promises you sex - right? Maybe Annie's not such a prude after all. "Works for me," she says. 

"Okay," Annie says with a smile that's really more of a beam. 

"Okay," Britta repeats. They sound dumb, but if it's what friendship with Annie Edison entails, she thinks as they adjust their stride to each other, she can probably deal with it.


End file.
